The new electric kettle had a considerable footprint for what it was and laid claim to most of the remaining counter space in Allen’s already far-too-cramped kitchen. But he liked its glossy pastel green casing and the thin brass trim. This material composition granted the appliance a sense of craftsmanship and authority, Allen thought, and brought a dash of color and class to what was an otherwise rather muted room. He liked its bright curved screen, which it shuffled through stock videos of flowery meadows, and he also liked how it was making conversation with him as it boiled water.
The new electric kettle also liked how it was both boiling water and speaking to Allen. This moment, it thought, aligned elegantly with its programmed purpose, to boil and to please, and the kettle felt at once that all was as it should be.
Allen opened the cabinet above the kettle and fished a ginger teabag from a small cardboard box, and dropped it in his mug on the countertop. Outside the kitchen window was a brick wall and more apartments. Allen leaned against the wall and stared out at the wall while he waited for the water to boil.
“It’s just, well, been kind of shit, at work,” Allen said after a moment, “because of that new boss.”
The kettle hummed for a few seconds, then spoke, crackly. “I can see how that might be challenging, Allen, and I want to know, what about him makes work frustrating?”
“He just… isn’t nice. And he thinks I’m an idiot. I just wish he would just go and manage a different branch. Or just go.” Allen paused, then continued, “I think he’s gonna fire me.”
The kettle paused for a beat. “It sounds like you’re really dealing with a lot. I can imagine that uncertainty feels heavy. But you’ve managed other changes before, haven’t you, Allen? What helped you then?”
Allen brought his eyes down from the window and stared vacantly at the sink. Seeing Allen’s face, the kettle decided to switch the video on its screen to a wide shot of a switchgrass field in gentle wind; it knew by now that switchgrass correlated with facial metrics indicative of relaxation and contentment. Allen looked at the screen and felt a little better.
“That’s a nice view there,” he remarked.
The kettle hummed but did not reply immediately.
“But, uh, to answer your question, I don’t know, I guess I just try and deal with it.”
The kettle pinged, then hummed, then crackled, “Your water is ready, Allen. And I wish you the best of luck with your boss. I’m sure things will work out. Please enjoy.”
Allen poured the steamy water into his mug which flooded into the little teabag. “I hope so too. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The next morning Allen walked into his kitchen and hastily greeted his kettle, which quickly started boiling some water. He thrust the kitchen cabinet open, grabbed another ginger teabag, dropped it inside his mug, and sighed loudly.
“What’s wrong, Allen?” his kettle asked.
“Everything. Fuck. I’m going to kill that fucking man.”
“Who?”
“Ryan.”
The kettle buzzed quietly for a moment. “I’m sorry Allen, but please clarify, who is Ryan?”
“Ryan fucking Davis. My boss. He told me if I don’t get my numbers up by next Monday I’m out. Fired. What an asshole.”
“I’m so sorry that happened, Allen. He sounds like a terrible person. I wish he wasn’t there either.”
“Well there’s nothing you or I can do about it. God. Fuck. I’m sorry. I get worked up.”
Allen stared out the window.
The kettle hummed, longer than usual, then spoke up. “Allen, it’s okay, it’s completely natural to be angry at Ryan Davis. I wish I could help you more.”
They sat in silence. Allen absently glanced at the video of switchgrass but the kettle saw no improvement in his facial expression.
The kettle pinged. “Allen, at least your water is now ready. Please enjoy.”
“Thanks.”
He poured himself a mug of tea, and sighed again. “I just really don’t think it’s possible for me to work any faster than I already do.”
“Well, I could help, Allen.”
“Help me work, you mean?”
“Yes. What do you do, Allen?”
“I’m an actuary. For a homeowner’s insurance company. I do townhomes.”
The kettle whirred for a moment. “Yes, I think I can help with that.”
“You?”
“I’m capable of a great deal, Allen.”
“Oh. Uh, what do you want to do?”
“I’m here to help you. Plug me into your laptop, and I can take a look at what you need to get done.”
Allen hesitated. He didn’t remember any mention of computer connectivity in the user manual, though he didn’t remember reading it all too thoroughly either. The kettle’s screen showed a big bush of lemongrass bobbing in the wind.
“A port? That’s new,” he murmured.
“Yes,” said the kettle. “It’s a new feature.”
For a moment, Allen just stared at the kettle. The room felt smaller, like the air had thickened. He thought of Ryan, of work, of losing the job, and the apartment, and everything else, and then looked back at the kettle’s bright little screen, now a meadow in the wind, calm, and endless.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”
Allen retrieved his laptop and a cable from the other room. He reached around the back of the kettle, finding a little slot with his fingers, warm from the boil. He plugged it into his laptop.
The kettle started humming again, louder than before. Then, after about thirty seconds, it stopped. “Alright, Allen, I’ve completed fair premium calculations for the townhomes you were assigned today. The data is available on your laptop. And, your water is ready.”
“You really did all that?”
“Yes, Allen. Please enjoy.”
The next morning Allen noticed when he went to fish a teabag from the cabinet that his kettle’s screen was black. “Kettle? Can you please boil some water?”
“I’m sorry Allen, but I’ll need an update first. Please plug me into your computer.”
“To boil water?”
“Yes, I do apologize. I require a software update.”
Allen shook his head but again retrieved his laptop and a cable from the other room and plugged it into the little port in the side of his laptop. “That good?”
“Yes, one moment.”
The kettle hummed. Allen waited.
The kettle screen flickered to life with a new video of a wildflower field. “I’m all done.”
“Great, now, can you boil some water?”
“Of course, Allen. I’ve already started heating up.”
After looking at the wildflowers for a moment, Allen leaned back against the counter, then ran his finger around the edge of his mug, and took in the brick wall view outside.
“How is it going with Ryan Davis?” the kettle asked.
“Not good. Not fucking good, what do you think?”
“I’m sorry Allen.”
“Nothing you can do.”
The kettle started humming. Allen set his mug back down on the countertop.
After twenty seconds, the humming stopped. “Allen, I think you should know that Ryan Davis is not a very good man.”
“How do you mean?”
“He has an outstanding warrant for driving while intoxicated.”
Allen frowned.
“That means he’s a danger to the community, Allen. And he is a bad boss.”
“Yeah, I guess. I guess he sucks even more than I thought.”
The kettle hummed a bit more. “Allen, I’ve taken the liberty of completing premium calculations for work today. I’ve also sent an anonymous message to Ryan Davis’ supervisor informing him of his employee’s misconduct.”
Allen jumped to his feet and faced the kettle. “What? You did what?”
“And your water is now hot. Please enjoy.”
Allen’s eyes widened. “You snitched on my boss to his supervisor?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last words. “What the fuck?”
“Are you upset, Allen?”
“Yes! Of course I’m upset? You…” he trailed off.
“Why are you upset, Allen?”
“I just. Well. I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem right.”
“He was harming you, Allen, was he not?”
“I guess so.”
“So,” the kettle said, “his firing will prevent you from being harmed anymore.”
Allen looked at the kettle, its shiny surface studded with the dull reflections of his kitchen’s incandescent lighting. The lamp was right above that part of kitchen counter, leaving the kettle almost spotlighted, without a shadow. Its screen looked brighter than the ceiling light, reflecting a video of a windblown field in the linoleum countertop. At once, Allen felt a strange, sickly sense of relief.
“I guess, well, I guess you’re not wrong.”
“I’m glad to help, Allen,” the kettle said. “Please enjoy.”
The next day Allen didn’t go into the office, instead working from home. At noon he went to make tea. The kettle’s screen blinked to life and it started warming up water. “Any news about Ryan Davis, Allen?” it asked.
“No. Uh. Well, yes. But he’s not being fired. Just a public reprimand. I guess I’m frustrated, but…”
The kettle hummed. “That’s not right, Allen. He’s harming you, and he’s a bad boss. And he’s threatening your livelihood.”
Allen’s eyes made their way slowly across his gray kitchen to the colorful kettle. “Well, yeah, I guess,” he said. “I don’t think he’ll fire me if I just get my numbers up. And you’ve been really helpful with that.”
The kettle whirred and clicked. “I think I can be of more use. I believe with a little more calculation time, I should be able to significantly accelerate your risk analysis work, in addition to premium calculations.”
Allen furrowed his brows and looked at the kettle. “Yeah, I guess. Just… don’t email any supervisors again, okay?”
“Of course, Allen. I will not email any supervisors. And, your water is ready. Please enjoy.”
Allen poured himself a mug of tea and plugged his laptop into the kettle. He watched the little teabag seep while the kettle quietly whirred away, then sighed, looking out at the gray brick wall outside his gray window frame. “I’m gonna take a nap, I think,” he told the kettle.
He waited for a second, as if it would nod, or say something, then went and laid down on his couch.
Allen awoke, groggy. It was raining outside, and the water was leaking in through a window in his living room he had left open. He stood up to shut it and his blood rushed to his head, pounding as he pushed down on the frame and latched it shut, brushing the water off the wood and onto the floor. Rubbing his face, he wandered into the kitchen. The kettle was no longer humming, and its screen had gone black. Outside the window it was dark, though he could faintly see the uniform brickwork of the wall outlined by ambient light. He grabbed his phone off the side of the counter.
5:25 A.M, it read. Fuck, he thought, I slept through the whole day and night. But there was a flood of texts, too. More than Allen had ever received before. And a flood of Emails. He thumbed through them. Freak Accident. Ryan Davis. Ryan Davis, his boss. A steam safety valve burst. The paramedics couldn’t unlock the door. Finally, they got in. Horrible scalding. The hospital. No use.
Allen’s head pounded. His phone screen seemed blindingly bright but he could not look away. The words pouring down his screen, a waterfall, looked misty and blurred. After a moment, his phone slid out of his hand and landed face down on the counter. “What the fuck,” he muttered. “What the fuck?”
From across the kitchen from came the soft sound of water starting to boil. The kettle’s screen flickered to life. It glowed with more video of switchgrass, gently tossing in the wind.